THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


6  ft 


a^ 


POEMS 


POEMS 

GEORGE  W.  CRONYN 


NEW  YORK 

ALBERT  AND  CHARLES  BONI 
96   FIFTH    AVENUE 
1914 


Copyright,  1914 

By 
Albert  and  Charles  Boni 


PS 
350S- 

C$1  /  3  f> 


To  touch  the  sleeping  lids  of  Beauty 
Drawing  thru  finger-tips  her  dream — a  birth 
Of  hell  and  heaven  for  a  nobler  earth ; 
This  is  the  poet's  duty. 

To  sleep  with  stars,  to  dream  a  flower, 
From  passing  shadows  pluck  profound  relation, 
With  a  divine  wonder  at  its  emanation; 
This  is  the  poet's  power. 


1644151 


DIONYSUS    ELEUTHERIOS 

THE   PRAYER 

Like  a  cat  beside  a  pool 

More  than  half  afraid  of  it, 

Fishing  gingerly  I  sit 

Here  beside  this  pool  of  wit — 

Dumb  as  any  fool ! 

Chirrups  humor  in  the  grass ; 

Winds  of  tickling  laughter  pass, 

And  the  world  grows  wise  forsooth, 

Lets  gleam  amused  tooth 

Seeing  in  this  water-glass 

Jests  that  swim  the  depths  of  truth, 

And  like  fins  of  fishes  shiver 

It  to  fretful  quirk  and  quiver. 

Ripples  break  and  bubbles  rise 

Catching  smiles  from  out  the  skies 

In  their  globed  eyes. 

Surely,  surely  there  was  never 

Such  a  pleasant  river ! 

Only  I  am  out  of  tune 

Like  an  icicle  in  June, 

Or  a  monster  from  the  moon. 

Dionysus,  hear  my  prayer! 
Spreading  arms  to  the  mute  air, 
I  entreat  thee,  fashion  me 
One  with  this  gay  company, 


One  in  mirth  and  one  in  song 

Dartling  their  minds  among. 

Loosener  of  lips  and  heart, 

Draw  my  sullen  mouth  apart. 

Give  a  gleam  to  guide  me  by 

As  a  phare  in  a  night-sky — 

Grace  of  tongue  and  warmth  of  eye; 

Give  me  of  thy  fire  and  dew ; 

Give  me  flash  of  mimic  art — 

Spice  of  Godhead  in  this  brew 

To  pierce  my  fellows  thru  and  thru. 

Oh,  thou  vintal  Deity, 

Loose  my  limbs  that  they  may  fly 

With  this  reckless  revelry ! 

Sick  of  sober  ways  am  I ; 

In  this  tumult  I  alone 

Am  a  satyr  turned  to  stone ; 

Satyr — satyr — not  a  man ! 

Gifts  I  ask  not  of  Apollo — 

Wine  is  good  and  grief  is  hollow ; 

I  would  follow  after  Pan ; 

I  would  follow,  follow,  follow 

After  Pan! 

Or  if  he  wander  ways  too  quiet, 

Shepherd  ways  of  warmth  and  ease, 

Let  me  taste  a  wilder  riot 

In  thy  mysteries — 

Let  me  quaff  it,  laugh  it,  cry  it! 

Give  me,  give  me,  give  me  these — 


Fleet  foot  after  those  that  flee, 

Hot  veins  amorous  to  seize 

Maenads  maddened  by  the  wine, 

Wound  with  hair  and  wreathed  with  vine, 

Maenads  stained  with  purple  lees — 

Give  me,  give  me,  give  me  these. 

Only  this  I  ask  of  thee 

Dionysus,  Dionysus,  son  of  Semele! 

THE  ANSWER 

Lo!  the  God  of  purple  pleasure 

Heard  and  hearkened  to  his  prayer, 

Reft  the  swathed  bands  that  bound  him, 

From  his  cloak  of  Self  unwound  him, 

Filled  him  with  supernal  seizure 

That  his  humor's  jewelled  treasure 

Leaped  and  sparkled  in  the  air — 

Till  the  night  was  bright  around  him. 

Never  such  a  jestful  fit 

Dreamt  he  in  his  wildest  wishes ! 

Never  from  the  pool  of  wit 

Had  he  drawn  such  shining  fishes ! 

Humid  flame  glowed  in  each  eye 

And  his  face  had  changed  its  vesture, 

And  his  arms  moved  with  strange  gesture 

Apt  in  every  mimicry. 

With  the  spell  of  Fire  and  Dew 

He  pierced  his  fellows  thru  and  thru. 

Surely  Dithyrambus  pressed  him ! 


Surely  the  Great  God  possessed  him ! 
And  the  mystic  sisters  too, 
Oeno,  Spermo,  and  Elais, 
(Who  knoweth  what  their  way  is?) 
Surely  they  caressed  him ! 
He  whose  tongue  of  old  was  frozen — 
As  he  quaffs,  with  this  potation 
Deep  and  deeper  inspiration 
Seems  to  grow  a  Prophet — chosen, 
For  he  speaks  by  divination ! 
Never  were  such  fancies  woven 
From  the  carded  thoughts  of  mortal. 
Some  are  mazed,  and  some  deride  him, 
"Lo,  his  wits  have  gone  astray, 
What  a  fool  he  is !"  they  say. 
Others  whisper  (those  beside  him) 
"He  hath  crossed  another  portal — 
He  is  one  whose  foot  is  cloven. 
Do  ye  hear  wild  creatures  beat 
Lifted  hoof  and  naked  feet 
On  the  quiet  woodland  sod? 
Do  ye  mark  what  mood  that  strain  is  ? 
Hints  it  not  the  Shepherd  God 
With  his  pipings  shrill  and  sweet — 
Snubnose,  Sweetwine,  old  Silenus, 
All  his  creatures  shy  and  fleet?" 

Deeper,  deeper,  Fire  and  Dew 
Drains  he  of  the  Wine-God's  brew 
Craving  furthest  essence — thus 
Heareth  now  another  voice 


Terrible  and  new, 

Luring — appalling, 

"lachus !     lachus !    lachus ! 

Wine!    Wine!    Wine!    Rejoice!" 

Thru  the  forest  calling. 

And  the  sky  is  red  and  golden 

And  the  red,  red  stars  are  falling, 

Falling  to  the  earth  in  showers. 

And  the  fresh  blood-scents  embolden 

Gold  and  sable  leopards,  sleeping, 

To  come  crawling,  writhing,  leaping, 

Over  gold  and  purple  flowers. 

And  the  autumn  sun  is  swollen 

With  the  sweetness  he  has  stolen 

From  the  wine,  and  he  is  wine,  wine-red. 

Come  ye  now  with  wreathed  head, 

Come  ye  now 

With  ivy  bound  on  your  white  brow, 

And  forgotten,  forgotten  be  the  hours ! 

Forgotten  and  forgotten !  Ah  the  night  has  fled  away, 

And  the  wine  is  spilt,  and  the  stars  are  gray, 

For  the  old  cold  dawn  abashes 

All  the  torches  turned  to  ashes, 

But  the  f casters — where  are  they? 

Fled,  the  sound  of  pipes  at  last; 

Fled,  the  panting,  goat-shankid  clan, 

And  the  maenad  rout  have  passed, 

And  the  echoes  caught  and  cast 

Died  where  they  began. 


10 


Never,  never,  never 

A  more  sombre  river 

From  such  springs  of  laughter  ran ! 

And  the  lucid  pool  of  wit — 

What  a  scum  has  clouded  it! 

Past  each  stately  Parian  column 

Day  comes,  gaunt  and  pale  and  shrunken 

And  her  step  is  very  solemn. 

On  the  veined  marble  sunken, 

Reft  of  breath  of  Deity, 

Prone  there,  lies  the  Priest — the  Chosen, 

Huddled,  bestial,  bleared  and  drunken — 

Like  a  body  that  is  frozen 

(That  such  things  should  be!) 

Shape  of  shapeless  mockery 

He  had  tasted  all  one  can ; 

He  had  heard  the  pipes  of  Pan ; 

He  had  followed  in  thy  van 

Dionysus,  Dionysus,  son  of  Semele — • 

Satyr  ? — not  a  satyr  he — a  man ! 


ii 


THE    TRAIL    BY    NIGHT 

No  human  foot-print  here  before  my  own ! 

And  it  is  strange  to  come  so  far — alone — 

So  far  into  this  frozen  forest  world 

Of  moonlight  and  of  shadow  and  deep  snow, 

And  things  I  do  not  know, 

That  strike  the  civil  vestments  from  my  soul — 

As  if  all  law-born  years  were  backward  hurled 

Toward  some  dim  and  other  pole — 

Some  brute  primordial  reign 

Whose  voice  was  terror  and  whose  life  was  pain. 

On — up  the  trail  I  go; 

Beneath  my  feet  cold  streams  of  moonlight  glow, 

And  in  the  silver-sifted  dark  strange,  naked  fancies 

grow, 

While  the  vast  pines  in  vista,  round  by  round, 
Move  with  an  unearthly  sound, 
And  every  tree  with  its  white  hair  is  crowned. 

On — up — I  go, 

And  as  thru  ancient  Gothic  arches  seen 

I  glimpse  the  valley  far  below 

That  glistens  with  a  fine  fantastic  sheen. 

On — up — I  pass, 

Nor  reck  the  night-wrought  spells  about  me  thrown, 

Heedless — sucked  dry  of  thought  or  will 

Save  to  peer  curious  into  this  magician's  glass, 


12 


And   see    the    forest   dreams    thru    forest   moonlight 

blown. 

On — up  I  plunge — until 
Bending,  discern  before  rne,  with  a  thrill 
The  signs  where  some  wild  beast  has  gone. 

Who  knows  but  that  within  the  silence  here 
The  cedar  shadows  gloom  about  a  deer, 
That  stands  with  body  lithe  and  slim 
Struck  to  a  statue  by  surprise  ? 
Who  knows  but  that,  upon  some  snowy  limb 
A  lynx,  lean-bellied,  pricks  his  tufted  ear 
And  watches  me  with  evil,  amber  eyes? 

Surely  beyond  the  stars  my  man-world  lies — 
For  close  to  me  unhallowed  mountains  rise 
And  fill  my  heart  with  fear ! 


SONG    IN    WINTER 

Burning  stars  in  a  frosty  sky, 

Thread-bare  winds  from  the  hollow  west, 

"Give  us  a  garment  of  beauty !"  they  cry, 

"For  the  waters  of  truth  our  throats  are  dry, 

And  phantoms  of  chaos  uncover  the  bones  of  our 

breast, 
Leaving  us  little  rest." 

Bitter  stars  in  a  frozen  sky, 

Tattered  winds  from  the  lonely  west, 

Haggard  beggars  of  hours  that  die — 

(Begging  the  gift  of  a  golden  lie!) 

Is  it  with  you  as  with  us,  no  rest,  no  rest — 

Is  it  with  you  no  rest  ? 


The  lacy  chequer  of  aerial  boughs 

That  winter  weaves  with  delicate  wizardry. 


Far  away — who  knows  how  far? — 
Against  the  flaming  calm  of  winter  twilight, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  speed — muffled  and  hoarse, 
Sounding  across  the  hills. 


Locomotive,  locomotive, 

Over  the  hills  at  night, 

Running  on  your  far-away  groove 

With  the  husky  pant  of  things  that  move 

And  cannot  turn  to  left  or  right, 

Of  things  that  toil  and  things  that  pass 

In  the  murk  of  smoke  and  the  stench  of  gas, 

Serf  of  the  monstrous  city, 

What  pity — oh  what  pity 

For  the  dearth  of  your  delight, 

Locomotive,  locomotive, 

Over  the  hills  at  night ! 


CLOUDS 

Whence  do  you  come,  oh  silken  shapes, 
Across  the  silver  sky? 
We  come  from  where  the  wind  blows 
And  the  young  stars  die. 

Why  do  you  move  so  fast,  so  fast 
Across  the  white  moon's  breast? 
The  cruel  wind  is  at  our  heels 
And  we  may  not  rest. 

Are  you  not  weary,  fleeing  shapes, 
That  never  cease  to  flee? 
The  forked  trees'  chained  shadows  are 
Less  weary  than  we. 

Whither  do  you  go,  O  shadow-shapes 
Across  the  ghastly  sky? 
We  go  to  where  the  wind  blows 
And  the  old  stars  die. 


16 


My  head  is  circl'd  with  fire — 
And  I  think  of  the  failing  of  one's  desire — 
And  I  hear  outside  the  pitiful  dropping  of  rain  ; 
Which  is  the  greater  pain  ? 


I  yearn  for  the  birth  of  the  brain — 
Be  it  child  of  blood  and  pain, 
(I  pray  to  endure  the  pain)  — 
My  heart — lo!  my  heart  is  afire 
With  hue  as  of  purple  or  Tyre — 
With  hope  of  Promethean  fire — 
And  oh  God !  God !  God  !  the  desire 
For  what  only  the  Gods  attain! 


In  the  white  moonlight  stand 
With  every  finger  on  a  star,  and  feel 
Infinity  as  an  engulfing  wave. 


JOY 

The  canons  are  covered  with  snow, 

But  the  sky  doth  over  them  lean 

With  eyes  that  are  warm  and  keen 

As  if  he  could  never  know 

The  gray  despair  of  the  snow; 

And  snow  and  sky  join  hands  together 

To  dance  a  dance  of  wonderful  weather! 


18 


A   VOICE 

A  woman  spoke  to  me  in  the  street — 
I  do  not  remember  how  or  why — 
But  a  breath  blew  over  the  winter  sky 
And  spring  came  in  with  silver  feet ! 

ANOTHER 

A  creature  plucked  at  me  in  the  street 

But  well  I  knew  the  reason  why 
The  red  stars  sickened  in  the  sky 
And  Hell  gaped  open  at  my  feet ! 


IMPRESSIONS 

This  is  the  Gate  of  the  Gray  City — wrought 

With  piled  roofs  and  steeples  dimly  seen 

Thru  the  gray  dusk — pale,  wistful  flakes  of  fire 

Kindled  about  its  lower  fringe — vast  murk — 

A  snuffling  monster  with  an  evil  eye 

That  surly  pants  to  work  some  will  unknown, 

Blowing  white  breaths — a  semaphore 

With  lifted  arm — a  form  that  swings  a  light 

In  arcs,  against  infinitude  of  gray, 

Uneasy  sounds,  the  clink  and  clank  and  groan 

Of  things  inanimate — the  curves  of  rails 

In  rhythmical  convergence  gathered  up — 

(And  gathering  up  what  burdens  from  afar!) 

Monotony — monotony — despair ! 

This  is  the  Gate  of  the  Gray  City. 


20 


Whatever  our  immitigable  end, 

The  earth's  our  home  and  prison  thru  whose  windows 

Our  wistful  scrutinizing  minds  traverse 

The  sky's  dissolving  continents,   exult 

In  melancholy  mountains  or,  shackled, 

Envy  the  inconstant  sea  that  seems 

An  uncontaminated  god,  alone,  complete 

In  mighty  passion  and  the  scorn  of  time. 


I  love  the  skyward-spiring  tree 

For  its  supreme  unconsciousness  of  me. 


21 


So  let  us  seek  the  lands  that  the  Gods  love, 
The  soil  unsown,  the  isles  of  sumptuous  store; 
Where  fallow  fields  yield  yearly  fee  of  grain, 
And  vines  unpruned  produce  perennial  bloom, 
And  olive  slips  engender  faithfully, 
And  dark  figs  deck  their  trees;  the  cavernous  oaks 
Bleed  honey'd  drops,  and  from  high  hills  descend 
The  nimble  waters  with  melodious  feet. 


22 


PRELUDE   TO    A    PHANTASY 

I  will  tell  thee  of  Far-Away,  of  Far-Away,  of 

Far-Away, 

I  will  tell  thee  of  Far-Away 
The  home  of  wandering  dreams ; 
For  they  come  out  of  Far-Away 
To  show  us  how  to  love  and  play, 
And  when  they've  wandered  for  a  day 
Must  return,  it  seems. 

There's  more  than  gold  in  Far-Away,  in  Far-Away, 

in  Far-Away, 

There's  more  than  gold  in  Far-Away, 
There's  more  than  jewelled  gleams. 
There's  more  than  smiles  in  Far-Away, 
And  coronals  of  laughter  gay; 
There's  crystal  tears  that  bloom  alway 
Beside  forgotten  streams. 

We'll  gather  gold  from  Far-Away,  from  Far-Away, 

from  Far-Away, 

We'll  gather  gold  from  Far-Away, 
We'll  steal  the  jewelled  gleams. 
We'll  hunt  for  smiles  from  Far-Away; 
Following  laughter  by  the  way, 
But  we  must  for  another  day 
Leave  the  tears  it  seems. 


We'll  find  the  road  to  Far-Away,  to  Far-Away,  to 

Far-Away, 

We'll  know  the  road  to  Far-Away 
By  the  feet  of  dreams ; 
For  they  come  out  of  Far-Away 
To  love  a  little  and  to  play, 
And  when  they've  wandered  for  a  day 
Must  return  it  seems. 


24 


RUNNING  WATER 

Oh  you  who  stand  by  the  river  in  a  gown  of  willow- 
green, 

I  will  make  you  an  eager  song  of  my  heart  to-night; 

I  will  find  me  a  feather  of  a  singing  bird  that  has  seen 

And  touched  the  blue  targe  of  the  sky  in  its  flight. 

I  will  make  me  a  quill  of  it,  and  dip  in  my  heart  and 
write ! 

I  would  not  make  you  a  threnody  of  sorrow  that  has 

been, 

For  you  are  no  more  than  an  eager  child  who  demand 
Magical  tales  of  me,  of  lacquered  Arabian  sheen ; 
I  will  speak  very  softly  then  with  your  hand 
In  mine,  a  rose  petal,  the  things  that  you  understand. 

On  the  waxen  and  beautiful  tablet  that  is  your  heart 
With  a  singing  quill  and  the  stain  of  my  heart  I  will 

write ; 
I  will  write  with  the  simplest  words  and  the  simplest 

art 

All  the  splendors  that  glow  so  by  night — 
Of  the  Genie  and  the  Bottle,  and  carpets  of  orient 

flight. 

And  you  who  are  more  than  a  princess  in  your  gown 
of  yellow-green 

With  your  bird-like  and  trembling  heart  will  under 
stand 


All  the  luxurious  sorrows  and  loves  that  have  been 
Written  on  parchment  at  a  king's  demand — 
And  the  simple  words  of  them  will  flutter  like  birds 
in  vour  hand. 


EPITHALAMION 

The  pale  dawn  went  down  unto  the  sea, 
Past  the  gray  ships  in  the  offing. 
The  salt  wind  found  her  blowing  hair 
And  closed  his  wings  and  nested  there, 
And  the  salt  sea  hungered  for  her  rare 
Sweet  body  and  forgot  his  scoffing. 

The  pale  dawn  went  down  unto  the  sea 

When  all  the  world  was  sleeping; 

She  lifted  veils  and  veils  of  air 

Until  her  eager  limbs  were  bare, 

And  the  salt  sea  shook  his  maned  hair, 

And  the  curl'd  waves  came  to  her,  leaping. 


27 


MARSH-LANDS 

Sure  in  this  spongy  and  luxuriant  retreat — 

This  lovely  lyric  little  marsh 

Which  nothing  hath  of  fierce  or  harsh, 

Unhappy  fancies  to  evoke, 

Where  all   life   is   most   delicately   attuned   to   sweet 

Melodious  living,  here  we'll  meet 

Naiads  dainty  and  discreet 

With  other  watery  folk 

And  watch  the  twinkle  of  their  iridiscent  feet. 

Upon  a  reed's  high  silver  point 

Which  early  dews  anoint, 

The  Red-wing  lights  and  poises,  swaying, 

With  throaty  and  delicious  whistle  playing 

Pan-music  in  the  mellow  morning  light. 

It  is  like  running  water's  flow 

A  bit  unearthly,  and  celestial  quite — 

A  golden  tremolo; 

And  satin  robes  of  air  half  veil  him  from  our  sight. 

The  gay  marsh-marigold 

Delights  its  small  sun  to  unfold; 

And  many  a  bulbous  goblin  thing, 

Ugly  and  grave, 

Into  the  dull  mud  burrowing 

Draws  from  some  secret  treasure-cave 

And  to  the  sunlight  heaves 

Green  breadth — great  leaves 

To  build  a  vessel  floating  on  an  inland  wave. 

28 


We'll  be  as  busy  as  the  clouds,  with  naught  to  do, 

And  we  will  wonder  at  the  curious  striping, 

In  saffron  glimpses,  of  more  distant  pools 

Which  the  wind  cools 

With  deep  reflected  blue. 

And  we  will  listen  now  to  Hyla's  piping — 

A  thin  small  sprite 

That  one  may  never  see 

Calling  to  the  sky  his  clear  delight 

Filled  with  insatiate  and  unbounded  ecstasy. 


29 


SPRING   FANCY 

There  is  an  orchard,  old  and  rare, 
(I  cannot  tell  you  where!) 
With  green  doors  opening  to  the  sun; 
And  the  sky-children  gather  there 
To  watch  the  blossoms,  one  by  one, 
Falling  wistfully  thru  the  air 
From  the  trees'  dishevelled  hair. 

The  sky-children  shake  their  wings 
With  flutterings  and  gurglings — 
And  love  the  light  and  kiss  the  sun, 
Nor  heed  the  blossoms  that  have  blown 
From  the  fruit-wives'  ancient  hair 
Earthward  thru  the  glowing  air, 
Wistfully — one  by  one. 


SONG 

A  Flicker,  a  Robin,  a  Song-sparrow 

Have  come  from  Arcady. 

The  Flicker  was  an  imp  that  shouted  in  a  tree ; 

The  Robin  was  a  winged  laugh  that  Spring  set  free; 

The  Song-sparrow  was  a  liquid  arrow 

That  pierced  to  the  heart  of  me. 


PLAYING 

Three  little  girls  and  one  little  boy 

Out  in  the  first  warm  sunshine ; 

The  wind  blows  in  and  the  wind  blows  out 

Voices  cool  as  moonshine. 

Six  tin  cans  and  a  pile  of  dirt 

And  the  air  smiles  like  a  mother — 

The  wind  blows  in  and  the  wind  blows  out 

As  they  play  with  each  other. 

Sparrows  on  the  fence  and  clothes  on  the  line 
And  somewhere  someone's  laughter — 
The  wind  blows  in  and  the  wind  blows  out. 
And  it  could  not  blow  much  softer ! 

Three  little  girls  and  one  little  boy 
Out  in  the  first  warm  weather — 
The  wind  blows  in  and  the  wind  blows  out 
While  they  play  together. 


SONG 

Hi!  hi!  hi! 

On  this  green  morning 

My  soul  is  as  taut  as  a  greenwood-bow, 

Feeling  the  sap  in  it  mounting  so, 

Needs  but  a  jog  to  loose  without  warning 

An  arrow  into  the  infinite  sky — 

Hi!  hi!  hi! 

On  this  green  morning ! 


33 


A  BUST   BY  RODIN,   KNOWN  AS   CERES 

With  rhythmic  feet  and  garments  flowing  free 
Draw  near,  draw  near,  bring  largesse  in  full  hand ; 
Move  as  to  music  of  the  saraband 
Stately,  before  this  Woman-deity. 

Woman's — these  billows  of  thick  hair  that  roll 
Down  the  billowing  breasts  of  her,  and  close 
Shadows  of  pain  and  mirth  in  firm  repose — 
This  delicate  mask  drawn  tight  across  a  soul ! 

A  Goddess — Ultima  Thule  in  her  eye ; 
For  the  sad  wisdom  of  its  steady  gaze, 
Fixed  on  far,  wintry  fields  and  frozen  ways, 
Goes  out  to  larger  things  than  you  or  I : 

The  Titan-sap  makes  gods  of  the  spring  hours, 
And  Earth  renews  its  children  and  its  flowers ! 


34 


THE   FLOWER'S   WAY 

I  have  stood  long  in  the  night 

Under  a  star; 

I  have  stood  still  with  shadowy  head 

And  arrowy  leaves  outspread 

Under  its  trembling  light 

Where  green  things  are. 

I  have  crept  close  to  the  grass 

Where  the  beetles  dart, 

And  the  humming-bird  and  the  dragon-fly 

Were  visions  in  the  sky, 

And  the  mendicant  bees  that  pass 

Rifled  my  heart. 

I  have  lain  long  in  the  day 

Under  the  sun, 

With  my  burning  face  in  the  arms  of  the  wind, 

And  my  petals  unconfm'd 

And  my  virginal  robes  a-sway — 

Thus  joy  is  won! 


35 


THE   TREE'S   WAY 

The  high  trees  are  honest  folk; 

They  do  not  stand  so  much  aloof 

Up  under  heaven's  roof, 

Altho  they  are  earth's  fairest  cloak. 

Their  lives  are  very  calm  and  slow ; 

They  wait  for  coming  things  to  come, 

They  wait,  they  rest,  they  ponder  some 

Purpose  forgotten  long  ago 

Like  quiet  folk; 

And  sometimes  I  am  moved  to  stroke 

Hand-greeting  as  I  pass  them  near, 

And  often  I  am  sure  I  hear 

An  answer  from  these  stately  folk ! 


CHILDREN 

What  a  garden  of  surprise 
Out  beyond  my  window  lies ! 
Fancy,  when  the  night  is  there 
Gentle  trees  with  drooping  hair 
Rocking,  rocking  cradle-wise 
Little  stars  with  yellow  eyes  ! 


37 


VERSES    TO    A    LITTLE    CHILD 
(From  Hofmannsthal) 

Your  feet  have  been  fashioned  as  roses 

To  seek  the  lands  of  the  rainbow — 

The  rainbow-kingdoms  are  open. 

There,  haunting  the  taciturn  tree-tops 

Millenial  prophecies  linger, 

The  inexhaustible  waters 

Abide  there  forever  and  aye. 

Beside  the  immeasurable  forest 

From  wooden  bowl  brimming  will  you  then 

Apportion  your  milk  with  a  hop-toad? 

So  festive  a  banqueting  almost 

Entices  the  stars  to  their  fall ! 

By  borders  of  measureless  waters 

Soon  you  will  discover  a  playmate, 

A  dolphin  engaging  and  kind. 

He'll  leap  to  dry-land  at  your  bidding, 

And  if  he  shall  fail  you  sometimes 

The  tender,  innumerable  zephyrs 

Will  still  your  tempestuous  sobbing. 

You'll  find  in  the  rainbow-kingdom 

The  ancient  exalted  traditions 

Forever  and  ever  unchanged. 

The  sun  with  mysterious  power 

Has  fashioned  your  feet  as  the  roses 

To  enter  his  measureless  kingdom. 


NIGHT-FLOWERS 

This  night  hath  no  disease; 

It  knows  not  wrecks  nor  wars 

Nor  deaths  of  human  minds. 

The  feet  of  the  sweet  winds 

Break  all  the  river's  peace 

Into  marmoreal  bars. 

The  tops  of  moonlit  trees 

Have  blossomed  with  white  stars, 

And  perfumes  that  one  finds 

In  old  Arabian  jars 

Had  never  blooms  like  these ! 


39 


THE    NIGHT 

Sorrows  confide  their  secrets;  joys  lead  lives 
Of  lonely  splendor.  Mankind  tells  all  things 
To  me,  knowing  I  will  not  ever  speak. 


DISILLUSION 

The  night  was  like  a  jewell'd  crown — 
(Could  jewels  be  so  soft  a  thing!) 
For  stars  and  wind  were  in  the  town 
And  by  the  highways  entering, 
Plucked  there  as  on  a  viol  string, 
Until — somewhere — a  woman's  scream — 
Sharply  shattered  the  dream ! 


Silence  within 

The  upper  twilight  of  a  temple  lies 
Asleep,  with  pendant  plumes — a  dreaming  god — 
And  dreams  the  pageantry  of  things — and  dreams 
The  gifts  that  he  has  given  with  his  hands — 
The  gifts  that  he  has  taken  with  his  hands — 
And  dreams  his  own  eternity. 


I  am  one  that  loves 

The  stars  of  labyrinthine  night  whom  the  shrill  dawn 
Devours,  the  quietude  of  ultimate  slopes 
Thoughtful  of  twilight,  peering  moons  that  shed 
Unrisen  glamours  thru  the  umbrageous  wood 
With  gnome  and  goblin  rife,  and  the  light  spray 
Of  gray  spring  rains  enveloping  the  hills. 


SONG 

Would  I  were  a  bird 
To  nest  in  a  cover 
Of  leaves  that  hover 
'Twixt  earth  and  heaven 
Where  no  sound  is  heard — • 
Only  the  uneven 
Brush  of  winds  that  slumber 
With  no  thought  to  cumber; 
Would  I  were  a  bird ! 

Would  I  were  a  wave 
To  rise  for  a  moment 
From  the  ocean's  foment, 
To  puff  my  lips  asunder 
Blowing  bubbles  brave, 
To  dream  and  to  wonder 
Of  the  depths  below  me 
And  the  winds  that  blow  me — 
Would  I  were  a  wave ! 

Bird,  canst  thou  fashion 

Song  of  things  that  grieve  thee  ? 

W^ave  hast  thou  passion 

For  things  that  will  deceive  thee? 

Bird  and  wave  I  leave  ye ! 


42 


RONDEAU 

A  Sunday-calm,  ornate,  profound, 
Enchanting  sense,  subduing  sound, 
Enjoins  its  ritual  to  prepare; 
The  day  is  bland  with  unctuous  prayer 
That  leaps  to  heaven  at  a  bound. 

And  bells  ope  throats  in  mellow  round 
Of  sweet  antiphonal  resound, 
And  virtue  glistens  everywhere — 
A  Sunday-calm. 

Draw  breath !    Away  to  virgin  ground ! 
But  where  the  fields  are  flower-crowned 
The  cattle  with  self-conscious  stare 
Chide  my  undeprecative  air, — 
Good  heavens !    Can  they  too  have  found 
A  Sunday-calm? 


43 


SUNSET    BURIAL 

The  trees  upheaven  filigrane  fingers  of  desire 
To  touch  a  ruby-throated  cloud-face  fanned 
By  a  bronze  breath  and  globous  mouth  of  fire ; 
Beneath,  the  rigid  gravestones  stand, 
Each  one  a  cadaver  that  cannot  close  its  hand. 


FAIRY   SONG 

I  can  live  in  a  golden  fruit 
Whose  core  is  hung  with  honey; 
I  can  swing  on  golden  wing 
In  elfin  ceremony — 
But  oh !  for  the  power 
To  open  as  a  flower 
When  the  air  is  sunny ! 


44 


A  YOUNG  GIRL'S   LOVE 

The  season  is  less  stubborn  now; 

Over  the  youngling  world  we  see 

A  white  sky  full  of  scudding  blue, 

A  white  wind  that  runneth  as  a  child 

Touching  most  delicately  the  new 

Sweet  buds,  and  having  touched  and  smiled, 

Goes  to  seek  out  some  pale  anemone, 

And  wreathe  with  maiden  flowers  her  fragile  brow. 


45 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S   LOVE 

If  I  were  your  sister  I'd  lie  with  you  the  night-long 

To  feel  your  bosom's  beating ; 

If  I  were  your  brother  I'd  wake  you  with  a  day-song 

And  give  a  kiss  as  greeting ; 

If  I  were  your  mother  I'd  hold  you  as  a  shut  flower 

When  the  dark  comes  creeping ; 

If  I  were  your  father  I'd  enter  at  the  dawn-hour 

To  look  upon  you,  sleeping. 

What  is  there  left  over 

For  me,  who  am  your  lover? 


46 


SONG 

A  cup  full  of  star-shine 
That  glowed  as  an  ember, 
(Oh,  star  of  my  delight!) 
With  smiles  I  do  remember 
And  words  forgotten  quite, 
A  cup  full  of  star-shine 
I  drank  with  you  to-night. 

A  cup  full  of  sea-sound 
That  was  as  summer  thunder- 
(Oh  sea  of  my  delight!) 
With  love  that  lay  under 
Seven  heavens  bright, 
A  cup  full  of  sea-sound 
I  drank  with  you  to-night. 


47 


SONG 

(After  an  old  English  tune) 

I  will  bring  thee  a  silver  crown. 
I  will  bring  thee  an  ell  of  vair, 
Cloth  of  gold  and  ermine  rare 
To  make  thee  a  gown. 

Thou  hast  brought  me  a  marble  frown. 
Thou  hast  brought  me  a  cold,  cold  stare, 
Heart  of  lead  and  wry  despair, 
And  a  mad-man's  swown. 

I  will  bring  thee  a  leaden  crown, 
Cloth  of  Raines  in  thirty-fold! 
I  will  bring  thee  a  bed  on  the  wold 
To  lay  thee  down. 

Thou  hast  brought  me  out  of  the  town 

To  the  earth  upturned  where  the  bell  is  tolled- 

Fires  of  hell  and  the  river's  cold 

My  sorrows  drown ! 


48 


TRISTAN   AND   ISOLDE 

The  sea  is  here,  it  hath  not  any  shore, 

Nor  moves  with  moving  of  wind-driven  waves 

Which,  undulant  and  writhing — naked  slaves 

To  the  uneasy  wanderer  of  heaven's  floor, 

Bow  sullen  backs  beneath  their  master's  store 

He  brought  with  viewless  hands  from  broken  graves- 

The  sea  is  here,  and  in  its  silent  caves 

Moves  not,  tho  the  wind  clamors  more  and  more. 

The  sea  is  here,  an  infinite  undertone ; 

But  lo !  upon  its  surface  I  descry 

Two  floating  bubbles,  wonderfully  blown 

Toward  each  other,  flame-like  from  the  sky — 

Meet — melt  with  lyric  splendor  into  one — 

Then,  wind-prick'd,  vanish — o'er  the  Sea,  a  cry ! 


49 


PALINURUS 

Starlight :  with  deep  and  quiet  breathing  slept 

The  southern  sea.     The  white-wing'd  ship  that  bore 

The  good  Aeneas  from  his  Dido's  shore 

Ghostlike,  with  rippling  furrows,  onward  crept, 

And  only  faithful  Palinarus  kept 

The  midnight  watch — but  ah,  the  magic  bough, 

The  opiate  dew  that  dript  upon  his  brow, 

The  vacant  post,  the  friends  who  waking  wept. 

The  gods  demand  their  victims;  who  shall  know 
What  failures  Time  and  Circumstance  compel? 
Yet,  if  such  doom  were  mine,  I  would  'twere  so 
That  they  would  mark  my  absence  thus :  "How  well 
Even  unto  the  last  he  struggled,  lo ! 
He  tore  the  rudder  with  him  when  he  fell!" 


THE   DERELICT 

I  cannot  remember  whither  I  was  bound — 
I  cannot  remember  why  I  was  found 
Moving  without  a  sound 
Moving  in  mystery — 
Derelict,  derelict, 
Over  the  sea! 

I  too  carry  a  cargo  in  my  hold, 

Underneath  sea-water  and  green  with  mold — 

I  cannot  remember  how  old ! 

For  terrible  it  is  to  be 

Derelict,  derelict, 

Over  the  sea ! 

Feebler  ships  weather  bravely  into  port ; 
Running  a  course  that  is  safe  and  short — 
My  voyage  is  another  sort; 
No  master  guideth  me — 
Derelict,  derelict, 
Over  the  sea! 

Nights  have  shadow'd  me  with  phantom  stride- 
Stars  have  peer'd  at  me,  eerie-eyed — 
Goblin  lights  and  magic  tide 
Keep  me  company, 
Derelict,  derelict, 
Over  the  sea! 


Setting  suns  have  rowell'd  me  with  crimson'd  heel- 
Winds  have  flung  laughter,  peal  after  peal — 
But  they  shall  not  know  that  I  feel 
Mute  in  my  agony — 
Derelict,  derelict, 
Over  the  sea! 

Rudderless,  by  ways  uncharted  blown — 
Some  day  shall  waken  to  find  me  gone — 
What  matter?    I  have  drifted  alone 
Ever — alone — yet  free — 
Derelict,  derelict, 
Over  the  sea ! 


THE    SQUIRE    OF   DAMES    TO    HIS    LADY 

Why  should  our  meeting  borrow 
A  sense  of  shame  or  sorrow 
That  each  must  go  his  way  ? 
Love  liketh  no  fetter 
Therefore  our  roads  were  better 
If  you  go  yours  to-morrow, 
And  I  go  mine  to-day. 

I  hold  you  for  a  minute — 
You'd  catch  the  hour  and  pin  it — 
But  if  I  held  you  longer 
Would  you  have  more  assurance 
In  days  of  richer  durance, 
Life  with  more  rapture  in  it, 
Passion  more  wise  and  stronger? 

The  Daughter  of  Illusion 
Hath  made  our  love  seem  fusion 
Of  two  strange  things  in  one — 
But  loving  hath  not  taught  her 
That  strange  as  fire  to  water, 
Love  becomes  bleak  intrusion 
When  all  the  glamor's  gone. 

You  say  I've  brought  you  sorrow 
And  pay  not  debts  I  borrow — 
But  mirth  is  what's  to  pay ! 
So  part  our  paths  in  laughter, 


53 


And,  since  your  heart  is  softer, 
You  go  your  way  to-morrow — 
And  I'll  go  mine  to-day. 


54 


GAS-LIGHT   HEROICS 

With  this  night's  carousal 
We  will  close  the  portal 
On  our  poor  espousal — 
Sacrament  and  housel 
For  a  love  too  mortal ! 

With  this  gay  delaying 
We'll  delay  yet  longer — 
Care  not  what  the  saying 
Of  the  World — that  braying 
Evil  tattle-monger! 

Pleasure  has  as  thunder 
Scorched  and  jangled  thru  me ; 
Now  I'll  sit  and  wonder 
At  the  day-star  yonder 
And  your  face,  grown  gloomy. 


55 


You  are  known  as  "Lily" 
And  they  mock  your  gender ; 
Is  it  but  a  silly 
Fancy,  you  seem  stilly 
Lily-souled  and  tender? 

Underneath  the  bitter 
Mockery  of  color, 
Underneath  the  titter 
Is  there  something  fitter  ? 
Something  finer,  fuller? 

Something  (can  I  hear  it 
In  your  secret  eyes?) 
When  I  come  too  near  it 
Like  a  frightened  spirit 
Running  from  the  skies  ? 

Girl,  you  know  that  glow  meant 
Dawn's  thin  lips  of  scarlet — 
Bubble  of  life's  foment 
Stay  your  soul  a  moment ! 

Bah  !     You're  drunk,  you  harlot ! 


MISTS 

I 

I  am  most  weary  of  this  fatuous  me 
That  doth  obtrude  a  niddering  death's  head 
At  a  blithe  feast  of  Springtide  jollity, 
Of  revelling  buds  and  flowers  unsurfeited. 
I  am  most  weary  of  this  chained  thought 
That  hath  forgotten  where  its  mansions  are — 
And  lost  the  dew  its  seven-spher'd  courses  caught 
Wandering  in  plunged  dark  from  star  to  star. 
I  am  most  weary  of  my  stagnant  soul 
That  neither  thirsts,  nor  hungers,  nor  is  stirred 
By  the  gigantic  thunders  that  have  rolled 
From  the  white,  hurtling  lightning  of  a  word. 

I  am  most  weary,  love ;  so  let  thy  face — 
The  sponge  that  sops  my  gaze,  myself  erase. 


57 


II 

Oft  in  the  groping  night  I  am  afraid, 

For  this,  mine  opaque  organism,  seems 

A  glass,  a  mere  reflex  of  trooping  dreams — 

A  polished  boss  where  images  parade. 

And  to  see  these  doth  make  my  senses  cold — 

This  globe  become  a  visionary  face — 

This  little  spinning  soul  of  me — in  space — 

I  dare  not  think  of  what  that  space  may  hold ! 

Such  thoughts  are  as  the  charnel  mists  that  rise 

From  feverish  and  mortuary  ground 

Thru  which  one  sees  the  country  all  around — 

Yet  near,  the  dead — and  far  away,  the  skies. 

But  at  the  thought  of  you  my  life  expands 
Until  it  holds  all  life  within  its  hands ! 


SCEPTIC 

I 

This  hour  has  shut  us  like  a  tent 
From  all  but  night;  we  two,  alone, 
So  close,  so  poignantly  alert,  have  grown, 
That  trivial  speech,  from  silence  rent, 
Breaks  off — a  useless  instrument. 

For  all  the  opening  world  is  ours, 

And  you,  tho  scarce  a  woman  yet, 

Your  eyes  with  feasts  of  lights  and  vintage  set, 

Hold  all  the  dewy  wealth  of  flowers, 

And  gold  of  Babylonian  towers. 

Our  lives  will  alter  if  we  move — 

It  were  so  easy  now  to  rise 

And  tell  my  unimpassioned  soul  it  lies — 

And  claim  youth's  heritage  of  love, 

Let  bald  life  prove  what  it  may  prove ! 

It  were  so  easy  to  conceive 

Your  lack  my  lack  would  compensate — 

And  by  one  stroke  undo  the  knot  of  fate ; 

It  were  so  easy  to  believe 

The  lies  that  such  a  thing  could  weave ! 


59 


Or  shall  I  stumble  through  the  night 
Biting  my  lips  to  hold  the  tears 
Because  your  incommunicable  years 
Must  spend  their  summer  of  delight 
Without  my  reach — beyond  my  sight? 

The  house  is  still ;  the  midnight  seems 

Inscrutable — no  answer  there. 

Oh  God ! — to  break  this  tension  of  despair. 

Between  us  the  calm  lamplight  streams — 

"Good  night !"  and  "Pleasant  dreams !" — yes — dreams. 


60 


II 

I  would  I  had  lain  with  my  love  to-night ; 

Her  eyes  trembled  for  her  body  said, 

"I  have  smoothed  a  pillow  and  made  a  bed"- 

But  I  smiled  against  it 

And  turned  away  my  head 

To  come  into  the  cold  starlight. 

I  would  I  had  lain  with  my  love  to-night, 

For  I  know  how  flowers  are  shed, 

And  the  cynical  scintillant  stars  are  dead — 

Dead,  dead  utterly! 

Yet  I  turned  away  my  head 

To  come  into  the  cold  starlight. 

I  would  I  had  lain  with  my  love  to-night! 
Oh,  indolent  Gods,  we  too  can  tread 
On  the  silent  spirits,  the  uncomf orted ! 
She  did  not  reproach  me, 
Tho  I  turned  away  my  head 
And  came  into  the  starlight. 


61 


Ill 

Love  (as  a  cloud  on  the  sea 
Hung  between  poles  of  blue) 
Hangs  in  the  heart  of  me 
Between  the  eyes  of  you. 
Love,  as  a  cloud  on  the  sea, 
Claims  the  tears  of  two. 

Love  (as  a  wind  in  a  tree 
Shaking  its  tower  of  green) 
Shakes  all  the  heart  of  me 
And  leaves  no  peace  between. 
Love,  as  the  wind  the  tree 
Tears  with  hands  unseen. 

Love  (as  a  storm  on  the  sea 
Shatters  the  sleep  of  the  wave) 
Shatters  the  heart  of  me 
With  desires  that  grope  and  crave. 
Love,  as  the  storm  the  sea, 
Boasts  not  me  his  slave. 


62 


IV 

You,  flower-named,  and  as  a  flower  arrayed, 
Open  to  all  the  wandering  airs  that  pass, 
Opened  to  me — yet  I  drew  back  afraid, 
Craven  to  the  blood  that  would  have  preyed 
And  the  sly  viper  coiling  in  the  grass. 

V 

Love,  when  you  smiled  and  beckoned 

My  cold  thought  stood  aloof  and  reckoned 

Some  heights  above  you. 

But  now  you  have  turned  and  gone 

Smiling,  fugitive  as  dawn, 

I  know  (oh  fool!)  I  love  you. 


VI 

Love,  with  her  queen's  face  and  child  lips 
Walked  at  my  side ;  her  hair  about  her  head 
Streamed,  with  riotous  and  exuberant  spread 
Like  sails  and  cordage  of  sea-breasting  ships, 
And  as  the  tides,  her  mirthful  glints  and  dips 
Tugged  at  my  anchor'd  calmness— then  she  said, 
Chilling  to  gravity,  "You  are  lead." 
It  was  as  when  the  bright  blade  cruelly  slips, 
For  in  my  soul  that  hid  its  vain  desires 
Under  closed  hatch,  I  knew  the  stifled  fires 
Devoured  in  silence,  as  stealthy  serpents  writhe 
Their  folds  about  their  prey ;  and  seemed  to  hear 
The  passing  of  some  irrevocable  year, 
And  faint  for  whistle  of  a  monstrous  scythe. 

VII 

Pain  of  widest  range — 
The  intimate  grown  strange. 


64 


ARMA   VIRUMQUE   CANO 

And  so  the  good  Aeneas  went  away. 

It  was  not  dawn,  and  yet  the  sleepless  sea 

Felt  as  a  mother,  the  still  unborn  day. 

The  stars  were  brighter  than  they  ought  to  be. 

A  milky  foam  curled  from  the  vessel's  breast 

Whose  long  blades  lifted  to  each  lifting  crest. 

Happy  were  the  sailors  to  be  aboard  once  more, 
And  the  laughing  sea  answered  to  their  shouts  afar 
off  shore. 

Dido  the  Queen 

Knew  he  was  gone. 

No  ned  to  have  seen 

From  the  casement  withdrawn; 

No  need  to  be  told; 

Her  heart  had  guessed 

By  the  aching  unrest 

And  empty  breast — 

Empty  and  cold. 

Oh,  plain  her  Maidens  at  their  spinning, 
Love  has  end  that  had  beginning. 


As  the  course  was  traced  Aeneas  paced, 
His  thoughts  uprising  like  a  flock  of  birds; 
And  one  flew  west,  to  the  new  the  unknown  nest, 
And  one  that  was  wing'd  with  flaming  words — 
Something  the  Queen  had  uttered,  tender — sweet, — 
Fluttered  back  and  died — just  at  her  feet. 

Ho !  chants  a  Rower,  straining  at  the  sweep, 
Leave  the  landsman  to  his  pillow,  the  sailor  to  the 
deep. 

All  night  the  Queen 
In  fever  burned; 
A  dream  returned 
Long  ago  seen: 
A  dream  of  ships, 
Of  one  who  came 
Out  of  a  flame 
And  cried  her  name 
And  kissed  her  lips. 

Somewhere  in  the  dawn  Someone's  singing: 
"Lo!  what  gifts  love's  hands  are  bringing!" 


66 


Jet-black,  the  palms  like  sculptured  fountains  loomed 
Above  the  lovers ;  one  star  blazed  all  night. 
Beyond  the  river  was  the  sea  that  boomed. 
Their  barge  was  lit  with  lightnings  of  delight. 
Of  this,  the  good  Aenaes  too  had  dreamed 
While  the  unshaken  towers  of  Ilium  gleamed. 

Ah !  cry  the  sailors,  "whom  we  loved  must  wait. 
There's  no  turning  back  from  the  open  track  to  the 
gates  of  fate." 

The  cicadas  drone; 
Desert  winds  blow 
As  oarsmen  row 
Their  Queen  alone 
Down  the  river. 
Alone,  she  cried 
Alone !  to  the  tide. 
And  the  sea  replied 
Forever ! 

La,  croon  the  Women,  nimbly  weaving, 
"Whose  heart  do  we  hear  grieving?" 


Months  bring  all  wanderings  to  a  close. 
The  fleet  years  flee ;  Aeneas  wisely  wed, 
Often,  when  wind  and  sea  strike  mighty  blows, 
Wakening  from  dreams  half  ecstasy,  half  dread, 
That  come  upon  him  from  another  life, 
Touches  the  calm  breast  of  his  sleeping  wife. 

Hum,  the  Night  Watch  mutters,  leaning  on  his  spear, 
1  'Tis  a  strange  world  to  be  in  and  to  have  no  fear." 

The  sea  at  last 
Brings  pain  to  end. 
The  desert  vast 
Becomes  her  friend. 
Her  people  fear  it: 
"The  Queen,"  they  say, 
"Grows  day  by  day 
Paler,  but  still  gay — 
As  a  spirit." 

Oh,  they  murmur,  "Queen  Dido  goes  away 

To  where  the  dark  river  runs,  sunless  and  gray." 


68 


A   HYMN   TO   DIONYSUS   IN    SPRING 

Yellow  the  sands  of  the  shores  of  Elis,  and  over  the 

creaming 
Foam-flakes  that  flutter  and  curl  on  the  edge  of  the 

dreaming 

Mediterranean,  Jupiter  arches  his  azure  dome. 
Here  to  the  somnolent  sands  the  Aeolian  women  have 

come, 
The  dreamers,  all  languid  with  silence  of  spring-tide 

dreaming, 
And  they  stand  with  their  hair  unbound  and  their  feet 

in  the  foam. 

The  heart  of  the  morning  beats  with  a  swooning, 
amorous  beating, 

And  the  nymph-cool  waters  and  brazen  sunshine  meet 
ing, 

Mingle  where  indolent  spring-tide  ripples  shimmer 
and  burn; 

Out  to  the  dim  horizon  the  eyes  of  the  dreamers 
yearn, 

And  like  flutes  are  the  low,  soft  voices  that  chant  thus, 
entreating 

The  God,  Dionysus,  to  rise  from  the  sea  and  return. 


69 


"Bitter  thy  roving  hath  been,  O  Hunter,  and  stricken 
with  madness, 

And  thy  winter  frenzy  hath  torn  us  with  torment  of 
sadness — 

Horror  of  blood  in  the  mouth  and  of  murderous  lusts 
that  bring 

Shadows  a-couch  in  the  forest  from  under  us  shud 
dering. 

We  are  sick  of  the  feverish  nights  that  have  stolen 
our  gladness — 

Ah!  we  are  weary  of  winter  and  fain  of  the  Spring!" 

"Thy  foes,  O  Hunter,  have  goaded  thy  soul,  but  their 

goading  is  over, 

For  every  unfolding  leaf  is  a  shield  for  thy  cover 
And  every  grass-blade  upraises  a  spear  that  is  scimi 
tar-keen, 
Gladly  the  flowers  will  weave  thee  a  mantle  to  wander 

unseen. 

Slim  as  a  willow-wand,  Ariadne  awaits  thee,  her  lover, 
And  her  heart  is  full  of  the  dreams  that  are  cool  and 
green." 


70 


"Hye,  the  Dew,  thy  mother,  sorrows  because  of  thy 
going, 

And  the  film-pale,  rain-sweet  Hyades  fleeing  and  flow 
ing, 

Dissolved  from  the  rainbow  and  river  to  rise  in  the 
sap  of  the  tree, 

Leave  never  their  dolorous  grieving,  lamenting  in 
quest  of  thee. 

And  the  succulent  vine  and  the  spirit  of  all  things 
growing 

Cry  'Dionysus,  return !    Oh,  return  from  the  sea !'  " 

"Wilt  thou  forsake  us  forever,  unheeding  our  sedulous 

plaining? 
See'st  not  the  clusters  of  pale  green  globes,  crescent 

and  straining 
Sunwards,   that  long  for  thy  hand  to  engarb  them 

with  royal  attire? 
Hear  us,  O  Wine-God;  return  to  us!     Kindle  once 

more  Desire !" 

So  chant  the  Aeolian  women  till  the  light  be  waning 
While  the  foam  breaks  over  their  feet  in  soft  folds 

of  fire. 


The  robes  of  the  sun  are  red,  and  close  to  the  earth 
he  dozes; 

The  long  day  lingers,  then  slowly  and  silently  closes 

The  shadowy  orient  gates,  climbing  upward  stair  by 
stair, 

Raising  her  evening  face  to  the  stars  in  the  spring 
tide  air. 

Lo!  the  sea  is  aglow  and  aflame  with  the  odor  of 
roses ! 

Lo!  a  glimpse  of  the  God  with  the  sun  in  his  yellow 
hair! 


72 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


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